“No,” I said. “I am not ill; only tired.”
He said, “Get some rest. You work too hard.” He turned to leave the room.
“Quintus,” I said.
“Yes.”
I held out my hand. “Is this yours?”
He came forward and took what I held out to him.
He looked at it for a long time, turning it over and over in his hand just as I had done. It was as though he could not believe what he held against his flesh. He raised his head at last and looked at me. Then he shut his eyes and opened them again. I had never seen such a look of misery on his face before.
He said steadily, “It is mine. It was given to me.”
I stepped back as though I had been struck across the mouth. Then I moved and the blade of Agricola was at his throat, the point just touching the skin.
“Give me one reason why I should not kill you?”
He did not answer. His face was beaded with sweat; his eyes shut tight.
“You took my honour,” I said. “You, whom I trusted with my life.”
“Kill me,” he said. “It is your right.”
“You are worth more to me alive than dead.” I sheathed my sword with a trembling hand. I said bitterly, “I need my cavalry general too much to be able to afford the luxury of sending him away. Go back to your quarters and laugh, as you have laughed all these years behind my back.”
“Maximus.”
“Get out,” I said. “Leave me alone, at least. I have work to do. It fills the time between one meal and the next.”
He left the room. I watched him from the window. He walked with head bowed, his thinning hair blown by the wind. He walked heavily and I realised then how old he was. I had never thought of Quintus as being old.
XII
I RODE TO Treverorum with an escort of twenty men, taking Flavius and Julius Optatus with me; but I left Quintus in command at Moguntiacum. I think he was glad to be alone, and I—I could not bear to talk to him. It was a hurried journey in the sun. We changed horses at each posting station and never stopped longer than the time it took to drink a mouthful of wine and swallow a bowl of food. It was midday when we saw the white gates of Romulus come into view and, once there, I went straight to my quarters. Listening to the murmur of the crowds in the streets and looking at the thick walls of the fortress in which I stood, it was difficult to believe that the camp on the east bank was a reality and that the danger we had feared all winter was now so close at hand.
I sent for the Curator and, while waiting for his coming, washed my face and hands, tried to comb the dust from my hair, and drank a bowl of white wine. Before I left Moguntiacum I had dictated letters to Honorius, to the Dux Beligicae, to Chariobaudes, and to the Praefectus Praetorio in his palace at Arelate, so far away, so warm and so safe. Now I dispatched them by the imperial post under seals of urgency. My orderly had just returned to report that they had gone off safely when Artorius arrived.
He saluted me politely, but did not smile. He was a man I could not understand. Once I had tried to. Now I no longer cared. “Sit down,” I said. “I want a talk with you.”
He inclined his head. “I am at your service.” He paused and added, “I also have things to say, general.”
“You had my letter about the inadequacy of supplies?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
He said, “You have made grave charges of incompetence, laziness, and even”—he hesitated—“of corruption.”
“Yes, I have.”
“I hope for your sake, general, they can be substantiated.”
I raised my head. I said, “It is a matter of indifference to me whether they can be or not. I am not a lawyer, concerned with abstracts like justice and fees; I am a practical man. I want these things corrected. I only want my stores.”
He said, “But I shall have to report the matter to both the governor and the Praefectus Praetorio.”
“Go ahead, just so long as you see that things are improved from now on.”
He said primly, “They are not my concern. It is all the business of the governor.”
“I made it your responsibility.”
“I am responsible to the city council and to the Praefectus, general—not to you.”
I blinked. “I know to whom you are responsible—the Emperor; but, as for what, remains something of a mystery.”
He was trembling with anger now. He said, “The economic life of the city is my concern, amongst other things. I must advise you that I have written to the Praefectus to protest against your closing the frontier, and to complain about the manner in which you have burdened this city with the responsibility of feeding and paying for your troops.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I am serious, general. There have been gross irregularities, particularly in regard to the returns made by your commissariat for supplies for troops who do not exist except on rolls.”
I stood up. I said, “Do not judge my legion by the standards of the field army of Gaul.”
“You insult the Magister Equitum. Nevertheless it is true.”
“It is a lie. Discuss it with my quartermaster and you will soon find out that you have been misinformed. Better still, come to the Rhenus and count my men for yourself.”
“This is no laughing matter, general. There is also the question of the corn tribute. I have had cases reported to me of corn being sold back to civilians at a profit out of your warehouses.” He coughed. “Your chief quartermaster, an excellent man, may not be involved, but others are.”
“Can you prove this?”
He said stiffly, “Yes, general, I can.”
“Then I am sorry. It seems we are both at fault. I will have my military police look into the matter.” I looked at him hard but he did not flinch. Suddenly I began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. What did our petty differences matter now? They say that Nero recited the
He said again, “It is nothing to laugh about.”
I walked to the window and looked out at the road to Moguntiacum down which a waggon was creaking slowly, drawn by two teams of oxen. Some children were playing in the dust and a woman was walking arm in arm with a soldier off duty.
“No,” I said. “It is no laughing matter.” I swung round. “Do you know there are six tribes camped across the river? I have talked to their chiefs. They want a third of the soil of Gaul, and if we do not give it to them they will take it by force, if need be.”
He said, “But—it’s not true—you are jesting—you must be.”
“I rode through their camp. I saw them: warriors with their wives and children, old men and women with all their possessions. They are on a migration. They want this land. A quarter of a million people are sitting on that bank, waiting for the right moment to cross.”
He swallowed hard.
I said, “I can only hold them if I have more troops and the supplies I ask for. I have written to the Praefectus Praetorio. I need authority to conscript every able man I can lay hands on.”
He said, “If this is true—”
“If!” I walked up to him and he backed away nervously. “They have tried to cross already. I have seen their
